


who says only the mighty ones deserve an anthem?

by meganekun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Music, K-pop References, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, i heard it was kinkuni day (lenny face)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganekun/pseuds/meganekun
Summary: "I don’t think I remember what it’s like anymore, not being stuck in-between," Yuutarou had said, shoulders and chin shaking as a result of repressed, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.Years of trainee life taught them to never cry loudly.-"Look deeper," Akira had said quietly, in the twilight darkness of the bedroom – it was his, after all – and pressed play.Yuutarou has been doing just that, ever since. 
Two kids, in a struggle to make and fake it. Kunimi Akira leaves idol group Seijoh to pursue a solo career, and Kindaichi Yuutarou's pride makes him out to be left behind. Not all is lost after Akira's latest single is released and Yuutarou finally understands that their story never did come to an end, after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: no  
> kinkuni day:  
> me:  
> kinkuni day:  
> me: alright finE  
>   
> this is a result of reading too many rumor articles and a "survival show" called no mercy, which has wringed me of any and all tears my body has to give. as a disclaimer of sorts, my intention is not to criticize or put down any entertainment labels, leave alone the k-pop industry as a whole – though partly inspired by real artists, everything is pure fiction. 
> 
> the song (and music video) that is mentioned several times throughout the fic is **[catch me when i fall (某时某刻)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcHsWONb27o)** by luhan and the title is taken from another song of his called medals which is cool af tbh.

 

___

 

The screen of Yuutarou’s old laptop is small and dim. It proves troublesome a lot of times, but this is not one of them, even though it is Akira’s music video he’s straining his eyes to watch.

Because, well, there is no Akira in the video, not even a small cameo – Yuutarou thinks he would even recognize his shadow, if there was one, but he doesn’t. Childish disappointment floods his veins.

He has held off listening to his latest single just to be able to have the whole experience (no pun intended, considering the EP is named just that). It’s something Akira told him once, years ago, when they were sitting on the small bed in his childhood bedroom – it’s unnecessary to specify whether it was Yuutarou’s or Akira’s with how much time the two of them spent together – and wondrously taking in the extended play of one of Akira’s favorite artists that he had been waiting to show Yuutarou for a while.

"There’s a music video for each of the songs, and together they make up a story," Akira had said, fumbling around with the second-hand laptop, so that they would get a perfect view of said video.

Yuutarou had looked on with a blank face – or, as much of a blank face as he was capable of producing – because it hadn’t made sense to him. He vaguely heard of conceptual music, created like pieces of a puzzle, parts of one big picture, but that was music-wise.

As for music videos, he considered them bothersome: their purpose was to promote the song, to undermine it in a humble way with pleasant visual effects and professional make-up on the artist’s face, some dance moves to offer a peek at what the live stage of the song would be like, nothing more.

To have more than the typically acclaimed two videos per album – _album_ , not EP – seemed pointless. Not only that, but surely nobody would want to spend so much money on something that wouldn’t even achieve the desired effect.

Akira had sighed then, startling Yuutarou and painting a subtle blush of embarrassment on his face.

Yuutarou, as much as he respected Akira’s opinions and supported him, even in projects that, be it anyone else, he wouldn’t have stood one hundred percent behind, was too honest to try and assure Akira of something that he didn’t really feel. It was something that translated from his personal life into his career as a trainee: he was at his best when he rapped and danced about feelings he had encountered before, things that had moved him. Such was the destiny of his simple-minded honesty.

"Just pay attention. If there’s something you don’t understand, remember it and ask me once it’s all over."

Yuutarou had nodded readily, hoping to redeem himself in not understanding something Akira was clearly passionate about.

Just before Akira’s finger could connect with the touchpad, the cursor already on the play button, he almost seemed to have changed his mind, a fleeting shadow passing upon his face in the half-dark of the pulled up curtains. Yuutarou – he wouldn’t remember it, because it was a movement so subconscious, so ingrained, after years upon years of knowing Akira, of working to gain his trust and hoping that the scarce wide, genuine smiles that pierced their way through his façade of apathy could, someday, be directed at him – had shuffled closer, trying to get a better look.

All that he got to see, though, was Akira’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

 

___

 

He had always been thin and slender, with nicely sculpted, prominent collarbones – something all trainees were jealous of, though Yuutarou wished it was the only thing, perhaps then they would leave him and, by extension, them alone – but no matter how much Akira wished to incorporate his lifestyle of slacking off, it only led to more work when the staff got wind of it.

Only the ones that worked hard, worked themselves to the bone – because that was, of course, the sole way to express how much you wanted _it_ – would be recognized by their label and assorted to the pre-debut stage, where they would go through tests after tests to determine which of their concepts, thought up years before and unchanging regardless of the individuals, would fit them enough to make a group around them that would get to debut in the K-Pop industry.

Though they weren’t the only ones, on top of all the training, Yuutarou and Akira would pull all-nighters to study nuances of the Korean language that only native speakers could appreciate, aspects of Korean culture they might get questioned on. The feeling of being outsiders amongst the picture-perfect crowd crafted a tight bond between them or, rather, made the tight bond that they had had since childhood unshakable.

Together with some other Japanese trainees – few of whom made it into the group Yuutarou and Akira received a spot in, later on – they would reminisce about their home, eat traditional food, but never speak Japanese. Their management was immensely strict about integrating them as quickly as possible, so that nothing except their facial features and names – their stage names were bound to become their real names soon, though – could distinguish them from Korean trainees.

Hearing that their group was expected to be separated into two units, a Korean and a Japanese one, each promoting in their respective countries most of the time, was a shock.

Akira was dully frustrated, but Yuutarou was achingly sad, those feelings only amplified after realizing that the Korean sub-unit was being favored by just about _anyone_. To give up so much, to suppress a part of yourself only to get it back, but in pieces, ones that weren’t the same. Neither were they recognized as Korean artists, nor as Japanese ones; one industry not accepting them as their own, claiming for them to be spies, at worst, the other branding them as traitors.

"I don’t think I remember what it’s like anymore, not being stuck in-between," Yuutarou said, shoulders and chin shaking as a result of repressed, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

Years of trainee life taught them to never cry loudly.

 

___

 

"Look deeper," Akira had said quietly, in the twilight darkness of the bedroom – it was his, after all – and pressed play.

Yuutarou had been doing just that, ever since.

 

  ___

 

He watches the video once, twice, comparing the bright night lights and the diverse dancers and models with the dynamic beat and gentle, calm, but by far not emotionless singing, accompanied by perfectly pitched background vocals, courtesy of Akira, as well.

Lastly, the lyrics.

 

 ___  

 

Akira has always been more fond of English than Yuutarou – partly because, for whatever reason, he seemed to get a grasp on the foreign grammar easily, partly because his pronunciation was naturally better. Yuutarou suspected it’s because of all the American soap operas Akira has started watching in their trainee days, discovering a stress relief in them. Yuutarou preferred the motivation kick he got out of variety shows, the fact that they were purposefully constructed to have him laugh at pre-decided points not bothering him in the slightest. (He was most definitely not a… not bitter person, but absolutely not a fan of confrontations which Akira, on the opposite, lived for.

Sometimes, Yuutarou asks himself if that is the only reason he still hasn’t left the group.

He’s the only Japanese member left; but that doesn’t trouble him as much as not having Akira by his side, jostling and looking after him in a way none of the other members ever could.)

But in the songs he recorded with the group, the parts he received didn’t let much space for that creativity of his Yuutarou, over the years, no longer supported passively, but did his best to nurture; especially when other people proceeded to stomp all over it, he would make sure it didn’t stop flourishing. It was mostly the rappers, Yuutarou and their sub-unit leader, Hajime, who drew the fortune – depending on the point of view, obviously – of parts with English lyrics.

Hajime, who is no longer their pillar, their _senpai_ , because he left the group without any notice.

Publically, that is – most of the members had known about his secret, long-time relationship with one of Japan’s most popular idols, Oikawa Tooru, and how much it suffered under the group’s tough schedule. No matter how upset they were, they respected Hajime’s decision to prioritize the person he had loved since diapers, probably, above everything else.

Even Kentarou got over it, at this point.

 

___

 

Just to be on the safe side, Yuutarou googles the translation for the chorus – English to Japanese, because no matter how disconnected he feels from his mother language at times, it still works best for him to describe and understand certain details and emotions.

_Who’s gonna catch me when I fall?... Are you?... I don’t wanna let you down, let you down…_

He lets the Japanese post-chorus dissolve on his tongue as he repeats the words out loud, not quite singing, but keeping the rhythm going.

_Forgiving me will hurt, will be a guise, will make you hesitate, no. But I don’t wanna let you down, let you down, make you disappointed, no. Who can never be hurt, no disguise, no hesitation, no… I don’t wanna let you down, let you down, make you disappointed, no._

"Tch." Whose forgiveness is Akira asking for? Who is he so scared to disappoint that he would bare himself so vulnerable? One of the members? Somebody from another group? His family? The fans?

Yuutarou’s hands shake in frantic, feverish worry. _Weaknesses, sleepless nights, acting like the chosen one_. They could all be metaphors, but they could also be the very thing that they are, straightforwardly telling a story.

Though that had always been more Yuutarou’s style.

He doesn’t deem himself the most patient person, just as much as he’s not considered to be overly quick to grow frustrated, but this is unlike anything Akira has put out before. It doesn’t make his mind work on overdrive as much as the tender love songs he’s released right after leaving (though he did note, ashamed, that whoever it is Akira wrote _When I hold you in my arms, I really don’t want to be separated… slowly inching closer to your heart… love needs time in order to be proven, please have faith in me, I promise you_ about is the luckiest person Yuutarou could think of.

He played with a horse in the music video to that song, and Yuutarou’s heart had skipped a beat as he remembered a joke he'd made at Akira’s expense at a fan meeting, where a fan brought him his favorite snack, salted caramel, and he ate it all up in one go.

That didn’t have to mean anything.)

The phase of less innocent songs that came after left Yuutarou blushing every time one of the members mentioned them to him, but the text was generic enough. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume Akira has never done anything remotely sexual with anybody.

 

  ___

 

This is different. It reminds him of the many late nights they used to have, staying up with quickly ordered takeout to bounce song ideas off each other, but the conversation straying to their hopes and dreams and fears and deepest secrets, instead.

"I feel sorry for dragging you into this," Akira had said once. Yuutarou had raised his eyebrows, but quickly caught on.

"If I remember correctly _I_ was the one who signed us up for the trainee program," he retorted, then, picking up a piece of meat with his chopsticks and watching Akira shake his head.

"Not that. Music."

"Ah."

There was silence for a while, because it was late and they had never really spoken about this before, not like this, but Yuutarou could feel it in his bones that a lot of the time Akira couldn’t fall asleep, thoughts like these strolled through his head.

"I don’t—" Yuutarou swallowed, rubbing the tips of his fingers together, a habit from whenever he was put on the spot to say something eloquently serious. "I don’t think you should feel sorry as long as I don’t regret it."

"You don’t—"

"I don’t," the interruption had been necessary, before Akira could spiral further down, as he tended to with things he cared for. Only the things you love can truly hurt you, he’d said, as Yuutarou asked him to add a missing lyric to a verse, sometime before that; with such determination, as though he’d felt it himself.

He didn’t end up using it.

"You don’t," Akira breathed out, sounding rather resigned than relieved, but the conversation had ended there, before Yuutarou could say that _Even if I regretted it for myself, I would have never regretted being by your side as you accomplished your dream_ , _high school volleyball championships_ _or not. Not a single spike could compare to watching you sing your heart out on stage. I just hope you are happy with where you are now, I promise you, that’s all I need._

The bunks had been cold, and so they fell asleep, curled together, sometime in the middle of a discussion. He thinks he wrote a song about all that, at one point, though in very abstract terms.

He doesn’t think he ever got the courage to show it to Akira.

 

  ___

 

 _He must be happy now_ , Yuutarou had thought, when Akira announced his departure and desire to start a solo career in Japan. He must be happy, but that hope didn’t change anything about the fact that ever since then, they had drifted apart like never before. There hadn’t even been any fights – no tears, no yelling, no punching, it just wasn’t them. There was quiet acceptance, and Yuutarou’s steady support, but Akira never asked him to leave with him.

They were going to go separate ways, from then on, and that was that.

 

  ___

 

When he calls Akira, it’s late; not as late as the night he realized he was in love with him – that was back then, in the bunk, with Akira’s warm takeout breath against his neck – but late enough that he doesn’t think he will pick up, not really.

Except he does, and Yuutarou is, once again, painfully reminded of why he has never been chosen as some sort of spokesperson for anything whatsoever, because what he can do at best is reproduce pre-written speeches, with trained intonation and little left to the genuine spontaneity that dominates his rap.

His voice hasn’t changed – he doesn’t know why he expected it to, he’s been keeping up with interviews and music videos and live performances as much as he could – but maybe it’s the sleepy, lazy tone in which he says his name and asks, "Who is it?"

Yuutarou chooses to focus on the fact that he introduced himself with his real name – not his old, American sounding stage name, like he was taught to do as a trainee – instead of the knowledge that he is, most likely, no longer a saved number.

"K-Kunimi, hi, it’s, uh, Kindaichi-kun," he cringes at his own awkwardness – it made sense in his head to add the -kun in case Akira forgot what his voice sounds like and thought he was being phoned by Yuutarou’s mother, or something like that – never mind, just his nerves.

"Yuu," Akira breathes out, sounding rather relieved than resigned, and Yuutarou can’t help but slap a hand over his mouth as heat spreads over the back of his neck and his cheeks.

 _Yuu._ They’d used their first names, at some point, surely, but never like this, affectionately shortened in the way that die-hard fans type for the tagging system on their blogs, right next to _precious turnip_. (Though Yuutarou wouldn’t mind if Akira never referred to him as any kind of vegetable ever again, considering he was the one who started the comparison.)                                                                                              "Hi," Yuutarou squeaks out, cringing once more. What did years of scarce contact reduce him to? Part of why Akira and he always got along so well has been because Yuutarou was comfortable enough around him to be able to articulate himself the way he wanted to, but never could with many other people.

No matter how different things may be now, this doesn’t have to change, he repeats like a mantra in the few moments that are filled with, his quick and loud heartbeat aside, the sound of Akira’s dry chuckling, the kind that he lets out when someone puts themselves into an embarrassing situation.

That chuckle must have been humiliating to hear for all these people, Yuutarou thinks, frowning. But the thought doesn’t stick for long, as after a moment of silence, something else resounds over the phone.

" _Dear world, please wait, there is still someone wandering along the street_."

Yuutarou stops breathing, he thinks, even before he can recognize the lyrics, even though he has been looking at them for hours on end.

" _Let him finish this song before opening the door to shelter; I believe, some day, when I turn back,"_ Kunimi sings, voice cracking, similar to the way it did in the studio version, and yet nothing alike.

" _When I get weary of the sky_ ," he goes on, faster, as the melody requires it, voice slowly growing louder, more powerful. It’s how he’s always sung, and it’s comforting for Yuutarou to be able to pick out something like this, after all this time.

" _Want to fall into the sea…_ "

There’s a short pause, and at the lack of sound, Yuutarou is reminded of his erratic heart, its beats resounding painfully in his skull, as he prays, prays for the connection not to break, prays that this is not a dream, not something his mind made up in an attempt to sooth the mistake that he made in not reaching out to Akira sooner, sooth the stupid pride that didn’t let him do it when he thought it was too late, but it wasn’t, it isn’t—

"Someone will catch me when I fall," Kunimi belts out, an octave higher than the original, prolonging the vowel. " _I know_ ," he goes back to the original, relaxed way the song was composed, like nothing even happened.

But it did. This is the sign Yuutarou was looking for, as he joins him, singing voice even scratchier than his rapping one, but he wants it, needs it, needs to feel close to him, as though there are no hours by plane and years of separation between them.

 

 

_We are the same; will get hurt, know how to disguise – no._

_Who can never be hurt, no disguise, no hesitation, no_

_Just let us – get hurt, disguise, hesitate_

_And then continue – to race, to feel, to fly_

_Now._

 

_____

 

(The only thing that is left are the years, Yuutarou finds out, as Akira tells him he’s in Seoul this week. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like an obstacle, at all.)


End file.
